"No! You can't!" Brother Dreel whispered as to not attract attention.
Ramando didn't say a word to the protest, instead wrapping his body in the ceremonial garb of his cloister. He wrapped his hands and forearms before working on his feet wrappings. Instead of wearing shoes or gloves, he seemed to prefer something with less protection and much more difficult to remove. No one would argue his decision for cotton wraps over leather gloves and boots since it seemed he never needed them. Never did one hear him complain about scratches and blisters.
"Please, don't tell the others," he rumbled with eyes like sorrow and brows like fear. "And if they find out, tell them not to worry."
"You'll die out there! The dragon...!" Dreel continued to protest. However, there was irony in this plea. If the dragon was strong enough to burn down a city, what was a Keep?
"I must prepare," he replied simply as if the concerns fell upon the deafened.
Faint screeching grew into roars in the distance above the city. Through the stoned walls, it was the sound of a strange whirring instrument Ramando could not name but only picture in his mind. He did not react physically to the audible threats, like most others. He needed to focus on the tenets on his training and gather the courage to delve into a circumstance of possible fatality. Another low roar was heard through the walls of the Keep as he quickly ate a modest meal.
He kept himself from the others. It would have been largely impossible to keep himself from others physically, however. Instead, he remained silent and moved with a swiftness and agility that wouldn't attract too much attention. Instead, he listened and tried to learn of the others with which he would be in a rescue party.
The half-orc and knight didn't make him uneasy. He worried for the intellectual capacities of Orchid, but the man as large as he seemed stoic and steadfast and well-educated, from what little he'd seen of the metal man. What worried him most was the halfling.
She seemed to be a poet or musician of some kind. He'd heard of Bards. He'd experienced their skill in entertainment. He knew they were often travelers, restless and curious. But this female halfling didn't seem to exude any such traits. She seemed meek and frail. Concerned for her life and the life of everyone else. The would certainly become a liability, and he accepted the hypocrisy which came with this. If he was to travel with them, he'd need to make a point to keep a close eye on her so that she wouldn't be ambushed along with the fact he never considered himself vanguard.
So aware of his surroundings, the sound of keys and boots under a heavy chin faded into the ballad of the mess hall. The rough sound of another dwarf caught his attention quickly enough, however. It'd seem he'd have to learn of his teammates under more stressful circumstances.
He could deduce where the sally port might be from his "tour" of the Keep when he and his Brothers arrived. Still, he followed from the rear, as he always would. He could hear echoed mutterings of dwarvish that he had a hard time understanding through such distortion. But then he realized he was just verbalizing the route he needed to take in order to reach the sally port.
When they regrouped, the briefing took place. Brannor'sir seemed to be confident in their abilities where Ramando, himself, was still unsure. However, then Parum's initial tactic seemed to shed some doubt.
She was an intellectual of a more serious sort, and her plan made sense. He'd make sure to keep close to her so he could protect her but also be close enough to obey orders should they be given.
His tethered hand gripped his quarterstaff. The clicking of the friction was difficult to hear in the din of the preparing battle. His other hand sat upon a pouch tied to the back of his waist where he stored his darts. He thought it'd be best to attempt ranged maneuvers before resorting to melee tactics, his own form of preparation. His heart raced with excitement and anxiety of the confrontation, as it usually would - in the beginning.